


Fried Chicken and Cigarettes

by DelightfulExcess (SevereStorms)



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: 20 days of chub kink, Belly Kink, Carlos is Human, Carlos is a Good Boyfriend, Cecil is Human, Cecil is also a good boyfriend, Chubby Kink, Chubby!Cecil, Food Kink, M/M, Sexual Content, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 15:38:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5253746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SevereStorms/pseuds/DelightfulExcess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil and Carlos attend the Annual Fried Chicken and Cigarette Fair, but Carlos only has eyes for Cecil and his adorable belly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fried Chicken and Cigarettes

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally intended as a fill for the following prompts in the 20 Days of Chub Kink Challenge:
> 
> *button popping/seam ripping/etc.  
> *stuffing/feeding etc.  
> *outsider perspective on weight gain  
>   
> But it ended up also being a followup to Cold Turkey, which, if you haven't read, is right here:  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/4681430 
> 
> And check out the awesome blog with the 20 Days of Chub Kink Challenge here:http://iwritetheweirdstuff.tumblr.com/post/131390268767/20-days-of-chub-kink

Carlos came home to find Cecil performing the Pledge of Employee Fealty at the bloodstone circle in the living room. He had gotten through the guttural howling, and was at the part near the end that Carlos had always liked, so he set his bag down in the entryway and waited quietly, not wanting to interrupt.

“...and so shall ye be robed in splendor and majesty and soft meats, and we shall be girded with thy modulated frequencies as a protective orange poncho around our chests, which are so very, very full of organs, and blood. We will it and we grant it. Be it so! Be it so!” He completed the final genuflection and turned to face Carlos. “Hi sweetheart,” he said. “How was your trip?” 

“It was fine, but I’m glad to be home,” he said, carrying his bag across the room and setting it down by the door to the laundry closet. “It felt longer than two weeks, but we got some really interesting research done.” He nodded toward the bloodstone circle. “Something going on at work?”

“No, not exactly,” Cecil said. “I’ve been having this little disagreement with Station Management. They finally put their footlike appendage down today.”

“Disagreement? About what?”

“The Annual Night Vale Fried Chicken and Cigarette Fair. They want me to cover it, but...well, you know. I just passed my one year anniversary of quitting smoking last month, and I don’t think it’s a good idea to celebrate by attending a tobacco-based event. It just seems counterproductive.”

“Oh, no,” Carlos said. Cecil had fought so hard to free himself from his cigarette addiction, but Carlos knew how easy it could be to backslide. “They couldn’t just send an intern?”

“I suggested that, but then they pointed out that we actually don’t have any interns at the moment,” Cecil said. “And besides, it’s a big event, Station Management doesn’t think sending an intern is appropriate.”

“Do you think you can handle it?” Carlos asked.

“I guess I have to,” Cecil said, rising to his feet and brushing off his knees, taking a seat on the sofa. “You wouldn’t believe how much I used to look forward to it. It’s more than just cigarettes - there’s snuff, shisha, chewing tobacco, exotic tobacco products from all over the world. Tobacco soap. Tobacco toothpaste. Tobacco-infused cheeses and oils. Tobacco smoothies, tobacco ice cream, tobacco -”

“I get the idea,” Carlos said, laughing. “Is there actually fried chicken at this thing?”

“Of course. There’s a fried chicken cook-off, and there’s a pie contest...but the tobacco part is always much bigger, since there are so many multinational corporations who like the idea of having a chemically-enslaved customer base.”

“Makes sense.”

“I’m worried there’ll be too much temptation. And I’d hate to have to go through all the anguish of quitting again. Although,” he added, smiling as one hand drifted over his belly, “It wasn’t _all_ bad.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Carlos agreed warmly. The best part by far had been the way Cecil’s belly had rounded out as he’d snacked his way through his withdrawal symptoms the previous year. Cecil had initially worried about Carlos’s reaction to his increasing waistline, but it turned out that Carlos didn’t mind at all - quite the contrary. 

He’d always been attracted to Cecil, so he supposed it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that he found himself more attracted to _more_ Cecil. He’d loved watching the way Cecil’s extra weight accumulated in his belly, loved the thick, lush shape filling out the fronts of his shirts, an appealing outward curve that Carlos longed to caress. 

For a while, Cecil had managed to cut back on snacks in favor of sugarless chewing gum, and as a result, had started to lose the weight he’d put on during the worst of the cravings. And that was also fine with Carlos, it really was; it had helped him get a handle on his near uncontrollable obsession with Cecil’s more substantial midsection, and his libido had returned to something close to normal relationship levels. 

Then, a few months ago, Tar Pit cigarettes had bought advertising time on NVCR. Cecil had, of course, had to read the sponsorship messages on the air. They were almost indecently suggestive, especially the way Cecil delivered them, in a hushed basso purr.

“Suck the satin-smooth smoke into your lungs, listeners, and let it linger. Suck it down deep, let it touch the back of your throat. Take it deeper. _Deeper._ Feel the buzz of our extra-high nicotine blend as it curls through the currents of your blood, numbing your nerves, soothing your spirit. You can quit anytime you want, but right now, you need us, and you know it. You want us, and we know it. Tar Pit Cigarettes. Start smoking.”

Suddenly, sugarless gum just hadn’t been enough to hack it anymore. It wasn’t long before Carlos began to find snacks squirrelled away in every nook and cranny of the apartment and car again, and the weight had begun to pile back on. Carlos had been torn; on the one hand, what he wanted most for Cecil was health and wellness, and as Cecil himself had pointed out back in the sugarless gum days, a regime of constant eating wasn’t really a viable long-term plan for health. 

On the other hand, he liked Cecil’s belly. He liked it a _lot._

That was part of the reason he’d accepted the offer to accompany his team on the mission to the desert; he’d been going absolutely _crazy_ at home, and he was worried that his enthusiasm for his new, rounder shape might discourage Cecil from losing the weight again. He’d decided to remove himself from the equation to see what would happen. 

Now, he saw the result of that experiment, and it made him feel lightheaded. Seated, Cecil’s belly rested in his lap, rounder than Carlos had ever seen it. He felt behind himself for a chair, and sank into it. He tried to look away, but his eyes were reluctant to move. 

“If you go, do you have to smoke? Is it mandatory?” Carlos asked. “Would it be possible to focus on the fried chicken part instead?”

“I guess I could,” Cecil said, brightening a little. “I never thought of that.”

“Who knows? It might be like you’re attending a completely different event,” Carlos pointed out. “Are the fried chicken and the cigarettes in separate areas, or are they all mixed in together?”

“Different areas,” Cecil said. “They say the fumes from the fried chicken interfere with people’s enjoyment of the cigarettes.”

“Well, there you go. Just stay out of the cigarette area.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Cecil said, but he didn't sound sure, not at all.

“Would it be okay if I went with you, for moral support?”

Cecil smiled and shook his head. “Carlos, you’re vegetarian, and you don’t smoke. Besides, you just got home.”

“You’re my boyfriend, and I love you,” Carlos countered. "I'd be happy to go with you, if you want me to.”

Cecil stood, pulled Carlos out of the chair and into his arms, and Carlos closed his eyes, holding him tight, enjoying the warmth and softness of Cecil's embrace.

“Thanks,” Cecil said softly, as they pulled apart. “I’ll try to make it worth your while.”

~~~

Carlos could smell the fair as soon as they stepped out of the car. It awakened scent-memories of carnivals and fairs and roadside attractions he’d visited as a child, although in this case, the fragrances of deep-fried batter and spun sugar were almost totally overpowered by the acrid, musty pungency of burning tobacco. As they entered the rec center, the smells blended and intensified, and Carlos could see smoke twining up to the high ceilings from the booths and tents where exhibitors displayed racks of cigarettes wrapped in colorful papers, elaborate hookahs dispensing smoke through lengthy brass mouthpieces, cigars, pipes, and every other imaginable vehicle through which nicotine could be dispensed into the human body.

“Oh my god,” Cecil said, his voice low, almost a growl. “It smells like _heaven._ ”

Carlos had been thinking the opposite, but he didn’t say so, just squeezed Cecil’s hand and led him through the smoky gauntlet. “Come on, let’s get you through the danger zone.”

He hurried Cecil down the main thoroughfare, ignoring the cries of the cigarette vendors hawking their wares, and they emerged into the slightly less chaotic area where the food was being prepared and served. Deep fryers lined the walls, and gingham-draped picnic tables filled the center of the space. The damage from the pteranodon infestation had never been completely repaired, but in this case it was helpful, as the pteranodon-sized hole in the ceiling vented some of the smoke from the cigarettes and the deep fryers. 

Toward the back of the space, a stage stood ready for the announcement of the winners of the Fried Chicken Cook-Off, Pie Smackdown, and Deadliest Tobacco Innovation Challenge. The trophies were arranged on a ribbon-bedecked table behind the podium.

“So, how does this work?” Carlos asked. “What do you have to do?”

Cecil frowned slightly. “Whenever I was covering this before, I was usually too woozy to eat anything by the time I got through the tobacco section,” he explained. “But I guess I should go booth to booth and try some fried chicken, right?”

“Sounds good,” Carlos said. “Let’s go.”

They wandered booth to booth, collecting plates piled high with chicken, biscuits, coleslaw and mashed potatoes. They’d barely made it to a quarter of the stalls before their hands were full, and they deposited their trays and plates at a picnic table. 

“I’ll go get us some drinks,” Carlos said. “I’ll be right back.”

The line for drinks was long, and the service was slow, so it was nearly twenty minutes later when Carlos returned with two large glasses of lemonade. He was surprised to find the table where he’d left Cecil surrounded by more competitors in the Fried Chicken Cook-Off, each bearing a plate of their offerings.

He worked his way carefully through the crowd, but before he could resume his seat, a woman stepped in front of him and shoved a sagging paper plate heaped with golden fried chicken quarters and piping hot western-cut fries in front of Cecil.

“I’m so sorry to bother you, Mr. Palmer,” she said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “But it would mean so much to me if you would try our entry in this year’s Cook-Off.” She seemed oblivious to the presence of the dozens of other plates, each similarly piled with food. 

“I’d be happy to try it, but it’s like I told the others; I hold absolutely no sway with the judges,” Cecil warned her. “I have no influence over the voting.”

“But if you liked it, and happened to mention it on the air…” she said, smiling appealingly at him. “And besides, you look like someone who can appreciate good food.” She reached out and patted his belly, igniting a flare of jealousy in Carlos’s heart. 

“Oh,” Cecil said, obviously flustered. “Well, I’d be happy to give it a try. Best of luck in the competition!”

“”What’s going on?” Carlos asked, as he managed to squeeze past more milling bodies and slip into the seat next to Cecil. 

“I really don’t know,” Cecil said, looking around at the table, and the people who kept dropping off plates of food. “People keep bringing me fried chicken. I think they’re excited because this is the first year I’ve ever focused exclusively on this part of the event.”

Carlos stared around the table, noticing that several empty plates were stacked in the corner. He counted them quickly, eyes widening. “You’ve already finished all these?” he asked.

Cecil nodded, touching a hand to his belly, which, now that Carlos was paying attention, was pushing out a little farther toward Cecil’s lap than usual. Carlos stopped breathing for several seconds.

“But…” Carlos swallowed hard, trying to decide what to say, how to handle this. “You don’t have to eat it all, do you?” God, how he wanted Cecil to eat it all. “Can’t you just try a little and thank everyone on the air tomorrow? They won’t know whether you finished it or not.” _But I would know that you did,_ he thought, then, forcefully, _Stop it, Carlos. Stop it!_

“That would be dishonest,” Cecil replied, sounding shocked. “This is the Fried Chicken and Cigarette Fair, not the Desert Bluffs Carnival of Lies. And besides, it’s helping me keep my mind off the cigarettes.”

“Is it that bad?”

“I think I can actually hear my lungs screaming for nicotine,” Cecil said, hiccupping into his fist delicately. “At least I can’t really smell the cigarettes, back here. And I’ve managed to keep myself busy.” He took a huge bite of potato salad from one of the plates, tongue flicking to the corner of his mouth to catch a stray bit of mayonnaise.

“I see that,” Carlos said, although he was absolutely _not_ going to peek beneath the edge of the table, was not going to take in the sight of Cecil’s belly straining outward, his waistband curling beneath its weight. He swallowed hard as Cecil pulled the most recently delivered plate closer and started eating, first cautiously, but with increasing enthusiasm. “This is actually quite good,” he said, “But I should probably slow down, pace myself.” He selected another plate, this one loaded with what appeared to be fried chicken legs and a fluffy pink ambrosia salad. “This looks interesting.” It was too much. Carlos made himself look away.

Over near the Tar Pit Tobacco Pavilion, several people were examining a knife-bedecked laser hookah that skittered about the table on thin, spidery legs. At a table across the room, John Peters, the well-known farmer, was selling sheaves of authentic barn-dried invisible tobacco from his farm. There were countless other diversions to attract Carlos’s attention, but just when he thought he was well and truly diverted, Cecil would make some little sound of enjoyment as he crunched through the crisp skin of a chicken breast or bit into the tender top of a buttery biscuit, and Carlos found himself unable to concentrate on anything else.

He wished they were alone, wished he could feel how full and tight Cecil’s belly was beneath the straining fabric of the shirt. He wished he could knock all the plates onto the floor and shove Cecil onto the picnic table, rip open his shirt and explore the gorgeously rounded shape of him with his hands and lips and tongue. He imagined what it would feel like under his fingers, giving softly at first, but full and firm underneath, the skin warm and smooth. 

He helped Cecil with a few plates, partaking of the vegetarian accompaniments - a little coleslaw, a few spoonfuls of creamed corn, a surprisingly tasty spinach salad. Finally, Cecil declared himself done, smoothing his shirt over his stomach with both hands, tugging his waistband down beneath the considerable swell. 

Carlos tried, briefly and futilely, to resist, but his eyes drifted downward as if drawn by magnets. Cecil’s brightly patterned oxford shirt pulled taut across the widest part of his belly, wrinkling above, and Carlos wondered, fleetingly, why he’d worn this particular shirt, which hadn’t really fit him for at least a month. He watched from beneath lowered lashes, biting the inside of his cheek, as he noted the way the button at the apex of Cecil’s belly pulled taut against its buttonhole. The thin cotton undershirt beneath the oxford Cecil wore was visible in the gaps between the buttons.

Cecil leaned back a little, which caused his belly to roll outward and protrude even further, and now he was resting a hand over the top of it, where it shelved out underneath his breastbone. _Oh, fucking hell,_ Carlos thought, as he felt a familiar hot tide rising in his blood. 

Carlos took another covert look at that valiant little button, tugging at its threads like a ship testing its anchor during a storm. It looked like it might pop right off its mooring at any moment, leaving a generous gap in the placket. _And wouldn’t that be something_ , Carlos thought. _Wouldn’t...that...be…_

“Wonderful,” he whimpered aloud, heat rising from his chest to his cheeks.

“What’s wonderful?” Cecil asked, and Carlos blinked, jolted too quickly from his fantasy.

“Oh...uh, _you_ are. It’s really wonderful of you to be such a good sport. To try everything everyone brings you.” He gestured at the crowded tabletop, face hot with embarrassment. “Even though you must be...really full.” His face went even hotter. 

“I am,” Cecil said, his expression unreadable. “ _Very_.” He didn’t sound like he was in any great discomfort; in fact, his voice had lowered to the point where it rumbled, deep and rough with sexual promise. 

Carlos started to breathe harder. “Well then...maybe...maybe we should get out of here.” 

Cecil took his hand, gazed into his eyes. “I -”

Carlos jumped as the moment was broken by a familiar voice. “I hope you two saved room for pie!”

They both turned slowly to find Steve Carlsberg standing at the end of the table, a tray held out in front of him. “The Pie Smackdown is the most delicious part of the festival,” he said. “And…” he trailed off, perhaps sensing the charged atmosphere. “I’m not interrupting something, am I?”

Cecil slitted his eyes and scowled at his brother-in-law. “Of _course_ you’re interrupting something, Steve.”

“Oh. Sorry.” He set the tray down on the table. “But as long as I’m here...would you care for some pie? It’s peaches and cream. I’ve never entered a baking contest before, but Janice and I came up with this recipe and Abby said we should go for it.” He placed a piece in front of each of them, beaming with pride. 

And truth be told, the pie looked incredible. The filling was as luminous as a stained glass window; the coral glow of peach flesh bright against the backdrop of airy alabaster cream. The crust was golden perfection, the latticework top encrusted with a glittering rime of sugar crystals. 

Cecil and Carlos both stared at the pie. Cecil looked conflicted, torn between his dislike of his brother-in-law and reluctant admiration of the delicious-looking dessert. Carlos was instantly reminded of the last time he and Cecil had eaten peach pie, at the Moonlite All-Night Diner, an experience Carlos had found almost tortuously erotic. Waves of heat suffused his body at the memory, and he clenched his hands into fists under the table, willing his highly inconvenient hard-on to go away.

The crowd behind Steve parted slightly and Cecil’s niece, Janice, rolled through the gap. “There you are,” she said, smiling up at Steve. Then she looked at Cecil and Carlos. “You found them! Hi Uncle Carlos,” she rolled as close as she could and gave him an affectionate hug before backing up so she was sitting next to Cecil. She leaned sideways to embrace him. “Oh, wow, Uncle Cecil, you got fat!” She exclaimed, staring at his belly in amazement. 

“Janice,” Steve said warningly, placing one hand on the girl’s shoulder, and Carlos’s eyes immediately flicked to Cecil’s face, worried that he might be hurt by the girl’s innocent remark. His face had colored slightly, but he didn’t look upset; as usual, his irritation at seeing Steve had dissipated completely the instant his niece had arrived.

“What? He did,” Janice said, not missing the tense reactions to her statement. She turned back to Cecil. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

“It’s okay, Janice,” Cecil said. “It’s just the cost of quitting smoking. For me, at least. For now.” He patted his full belly contentedly. 

“Are you going to try our pie?” Janice asked. “Dad and I made it for the Pie Smackdown.”

Steve squeezed her shoulder, eyeing Cecil’s bulging middle. “I think your uncle might have already overdone it a little, honey.”

Cecil’s face reddened slightly. “I’m just fine, thank you,” he said. “I don’t remember asking for your opinion about my eating habits.”

“Oh. Okay,” Steve said agreeably, setting two thick slices of pie down on the table. “Hope you enjoy it. Come on Janice, we’ve got to get ready for the judges.”

“Okay! Bye, Uncle Cecil. Bye, Uncle Carlos,” Janice said, waving, and the pair vanished back into the crowd.

Cecil and Carlos watched them go, then turned back to the two pie plates on the table before them. 

“I think we should stay and have some pie,” Cecil said. “I’ve heard it’s the most delicious part of the whole fair.” 

“Cecil…” Carlos began, but Cecil took his hand before he could continue. He kissed it, then, to Carlos’s surprise, pressed it to his belly. Carlos stifled a groan as his fingers made contact with the ample curve; he could feel Cecil’s pulse through his skin. Cecil covered Carlos’s hand with his, began moving it over his round, full belly in lazy circles, and met Carlos’s eyes for a long moment. 

“I think I have just enough room for pie,” he said. 

“And then?”

“Then we can go.” A smile quirked Cecil’s lips, and Carlos’s eyes widened.

“Are you...is this…?” he waved a hand at the plate-strewn table, glanced pointedly down at Cecil’s impossibly stuffed gut. He couldn’t quite bring himself to articulate the question out loud, in public. Cecil knew the effect his weight gain had on Carlos, of course, but Carlos had always figured that Cecil viewed this as the lone perk of his increasing girth, which he otherwise seemed to find somewhat inconvenient and occasionally even embarrassing. But the look on Cecil’s face suggested something Carlos had never suspected. It suggested that he was as turned on as Carlos right now, and that was… _that_ was…well, it was goddamn hot.

“Did you do all this on purpose?” He whispered. “This shirt, _god,_ that button, the food...”

Cecil guided his hand over his belly again in a leisurely loop. “I told you I’d make this worth your while,” he murmured. He released Carlos’s hand and turned back toward the table. “Now, let’s eat this pie.”

Carlos immediately began eating his pie in huge bites, but he barely tasted it - he was too preoccupied with the sight of Cecil sucking the sweet, creamy custard from the tines of his fork, plucking a peach from the nest of sugary latticework and popping it into his mouth with obvious pleasure. He sank the edge of his fork into the tender, flaky crust and paused to press a hand against his stomach, settling it, trying to get comfortable. He moved his legs apart, letting his belly sink between them, taking up a little more room. 

That was it. Carlos couldn’t take it any more. He bolted the his last bite of pie, dropped his fork, and stood up so quickly he knocked over his drink and rattled the stack of empty plates, but he didn’t care. He grabbed Cecil’s hand, hauling him to his feet. Cecil got up with difficulty, one hand held against the table and the other to his belly, and Carlos took hold of one of his arms to steady him.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, fine,” Cecil said breathlessly, his face coloring anew as several of the people at the surrounding tables turned to look at him, taking in his obvious overindulgence and consequent discomfort, reactions varying from amusement to sympathy. Carlos put an arm around him and they made their way back through the crowds toward the exits, Cecil moving slowly beneath the weight of the food he’d consumed.

As they drove home, Carlos tried not to pay too much attention to the way the seatbelt pulled Cecil’s shirt just that little extra bit tighter, emphasizing his swollen belly, or the way Cecil sat with his legs apart, leaning back in the seat to ease the pressure of his fullness, but even with his eyes fixed resolutely on the road ahead, Carlos could hear the faint gurgling sounds of digestion, and Cecil’s groans when he hit the brakes too hard or took a turn too fast.

Carlos parked the car, whipped the keys out of the ignition, and was about to get out, when he heard a sharp, skittering snap from the passenger seat. He turned. Cecil had leaned forward a little to remove his seatbelt, and was looking down into the footwell.

“What was that?” Carlos asked, looking around for the source of the sound.

“Oh,” Cecil said, hand going to his shirtfront. “I...I just lost a button.”

Carlos stared at the middle of Cecil’s belly, where his shirt now gaped open, the weight of his gut resting on the next button down, and reached out to touch the soft fabric of Cecil’s undershirt, to feel the slight give of his warm flesh beneath. His pulse pounded in his throat, and he felt the heat of blood rushing to his face and his groin.

“Oh my god,” he said. “Cecil…”

Carlos lifted his gaze to look at him, saw his tenderly amused expression, and gripped the front of his shirt, crushing his mouth over Cecil’s, deeply, open-mouthed, the full force of the desire he’d been holding back for hours bursting forth. The rest of the buttons of Cecil’s shirt popped free as he tightened his hands in the fabric and tugged Cecil closer. Cecil gave a muffled “mmph” of surprise at the heat and force of the kiss, but Carlos couldn’t stop himself, he’d given in entirely to the demanding beat of his blood, the need that had been building all day and had finally slipped his tenuous control.

They broke apart for an instant to clamber out of the car and up the stairs, kissing, shoving and pulling at each other’s clothes, stumbling into the walls and startling an elderly neighbor who advised them, sternly, to get a room.

“We’re trying,” Cecil gasped politely as they staggered down the hall. Carlos pinned Cecil against the front door, kissing him, moving his hips roughly against Cecil’s, desperate to ease his aching hard-on.

Cecil fumbled with the door handle and they nearly fell into the entryway. Carlos kicked the door shut behind them and shrugged out of his lab coat and shirt, flinging them out of the way. They moved in awkward unison toward the bedroom, where Carlos pushed Cecil down onto the edge of the bed, dropping to his knees in front of him, hands stilling as they came to rest on his belly, tracing the bell-like outward swell of it. He released a shaky breath.

He shoved the torn oxford off Cecil’s shoulders. The thin white t-shirt underneath looked like it had stopped fitting properly several pounds ago, and it was straining to contain his belly, the hem stretched tight around his girth and starting to creep up, exposing the pale, rounded underside. Carlos breathed in and out, as slowly as he could, trying to take his time, even though his heart felt like it was about to pound through the walls of his chest, and sweat was breaking out on his face and back. 

He slipped his fingers under the hem and slowly, slowly lifted the shirt up.  
And _oh god,_ , Cecil’s belly. It stood out from his body, expanding and contracting with his breath, round and sweet and inviting. Cecil didn’t seem prone to stretch marks; his skin was unblemished and smooth, and a line of fine hair trailed downward from the deep, soft indent of his navel. Carlos traced one finger along it, and flicked open the tab at the front of Cecil’s trousers, gaping in helpless adoration as his belly expanded just a little bit into the extra space the open fly provided. He felt breathless, boneless, and weak.

“I can’t resist you,” he said, voice shaking, leaning forward to place a worshipful kiss just below Cecil’s navel. “Your body is amazing. It’s… _god,_ it’s just _perfect_. This,” his fingers skimmed the crest of Cecil’s belly with one hand, “Is just…” he shook his head, wordless and helpless. Seeing Cecil like this, so full, gave him a sense of what his boyfriend would look like if he were heavier, if his lovely big belly were just a little bigger, a little rounder, a little softer…

Carlos groaned, burying his head against Cecil’s thigh and wrapping his arms around his belly, so desperately turned on he was nearly incapacitated.

Cecil laughed, causing his belly to - _oh dear gods_ \- jiggle a little, and he pulled Carlos up to straddle his lap, Carlos’s hard cock bumping up against Cecil’s soft stomach. 

“I love you like this,” Cecil told him, pulling his face close and kissing him. “So hot for it, so desperate, so completely undone.”

“Cecil, I -”

“Shhh.” Cecil kissed him again, then pulled him backward and rolled sideways, hands working on his belt and fly, finding his burningly erect cock and sliding up and down its length. Carlos closed his eyes, breathing like he was running, only vaguely aware of the mattress shifting as Cecil briefly heaved himself upright, clicked open a plastic cap, and a few seconds later, drenched his cock with hot slickness.

“Carlos,” Cecil whispered. He was struggling out of his pants, and Carlos moved quickly to help, his hands clumsy as he tugged them free because his whole body was trembling with the effort of restraint. 

He kicked his own jeans and boxers off and snuggled up against Cecil’s backside, hand splayed across his belly.

“I want you _so_ much,” Carlos whispered as circled his entrance with one liberally lubed finger. He pressed gently, his long-denied orgasm making him feel like his whole body was throbbing, but he gritted his teeth and went slowly, making sure Cecil was ready, before finally, _finally,_ wrapping his leg over Cecil’s, kissing his shoulder and the curve of his neck, and pushing into him in an agonizingly slow thrust. 

Carlos gulped air as he pulled out, the electric pleasure permeating into his bones. He slid slowly back inside, wrapped his hand around Cecil’s cock, pumping slowly, drawing a long, low moan from Cecil. God, he loved him.

“You… _ohmygod_ are the _sweet_ est man...I have ever… _ever_...known,” he panted. He wanted to go harder, faster, but was mindful of Cecil’s precarious fullness, so he kept up the infuriatingly slow and steady pace with hips and hand, his face buried against Cecil’s shoulder, Cecil’s hands floating back to caress his face. 

There were too many wonderful sensations rocketing across his nerves; the throbbing, aching pleasure of his cock buried deep in Cecil’s body, the increasingly incoherent sounds Cecil was making, the silky, hot rigidity of his cock in Carlos’s hand, the smell and taste of him, the the feel of his soft, heavy body, it was all too much, too _much_ , and he didn’t think he could stand it much longer.

“Cecil,” he said, his voice breaking, “Cecil, I’m - I -”

“It’s okay,” Cecil said breathlessly, “It’s okay, you c-can...you feel so good, Carlos… _oh_... so _good_...don’t stop...please.....” He wrapped his hand around Carlos’s on his cock, urging him to go a little faster, so he did, picking up the pace at last, and that was when he felt Cecil’s muscles start to twitch and dance around him, tightening in uncontrollable spasms that finally tipped him beyond the reach of his self-control.

As Cecil started to come in his hand, he leaned forward and drove into him, over and over, into the crashing waves of pleasure, and when he felt his orgasm begin to overtake him, he released Cecil, gripping his hip with his slick, wet hand, and plunged in deep, deeper still, feeling Cecil’s body quivering around him as he came, at _last,_ stuttering to a gradual halt, sweaty and spent, Cecil’s body cradled in his arms.

They lay still for a while, but eventually rose to get cleaned up, and when Cecil returned to bed, Carlos rolled onto him, straddling his hips, the dome of his belly cradled in the vee of his legs, and dropped little kisses on top of it until Cecil squirmed in protest.

“If you’re ever planning to eat your way through your cravings again, maybe we should arrange for that to happen at home,” Carlos said. “You nearly killed me today.”

“Mmm,” Cecil said. “Or maybe it’s time for me to try that thing where you stop eating almost all food, whatever that’s called.”

“A diet?” Carlos asked, apprehensively.

“That’s it, a diet,” Cecil said. “I’ll need one, after today.” 

“You don’t need a diet,” Carlos objected. “You’re perfect.”

“Oh, Carlos,” Cecil said, smiling fondly at him. “You’re very sweet, but...well, just _look_ at me. It’s getting ridiculous.” He rested his hands along the sides of his belly and looked down at himself ruefully. 

“Ridiculously hot,” Carlos said. He leaned forward, letting his hand slip lightly from the top of Cecil’s belly to the middle, dipping gently inward at his navel, and finally cradling the soft underside. “But it’s your choice, Cecil. I love it, I guess you know that, but I also love _you,_ no matter what, okay? I’m attracted to more than just this.” He patted Cecil’s tummy affectionately.

Cecil shook his head, reaching out for Carlos’s hand. “I’m glad,” he said. “I know this isn’t exactly healthy...but it feels _so_ good, Carlos, being this full.”

“It does?” Carlos swallowed with an audible click.

“Mmm. And I love that you love it so much, seeing my belly fill out, get so round and tight...you get this look on your face, your eyes go all dreamy and far away, it's adorable. And then...the way you touch me, all tentative and shy at first, then...oh, I don't know. It’s like something inside you just snaps. It’s intense.”

As he spoke, Cecil’s hands joined Carlos’s, roaming over his expansive belly. “I like it, too, feeling the way it sticks out so much further, so heavy, impossible to hide. I actually liked that people noticed it today,” he added, blushing at the memory. “I don’t know why that should be so exciting, but it was.”

Carlos’s vision darkened at the edges, and he felt heat gathering in his own belly, low down. “Damn it,” he whispered. “What are you trying to do to me?”

In answer, Cecil flexed his hips, nudging Carlos’s rising erection. “Looks like I’ve already done it,” he said. 

“But Cecil, I -”

“I know,” Cecil interrupted. He bit his lower lip. “I understand,” he amended. “But for now...here I am.” He placed a hand on his middle and smiled. “Would you please just let me indulge you?” 

Carlos thought about protesting, trying to explain himself further, but his body had already betrayed his eagerness. Whatever happened next, tomorrow, next week, it didn’t matter right now. Right now, he wanted Cecil, wanted to feel their bodies twined together, wanted to give and receive pleasure. He rolled off to the side, pulling Cecil with him, pulling his face close. 

“Yes,” he said. “Indulge me.”


End file.
